Man's Best Friend
by I Feel Possessed
Summary: NCISLAMagazine Challenge 2 Callen is undercover on a CIA mission, as one half of a journalistic couple in Uzbekistan. Part of the mission goes wrong and Callen believes Tracy is dead, leaving Callen with only his dog Buddy, to rely on. Set late 2001/early 2002.
1. Chapter 1

Not sure how much this story meets the criteria set out in the NCIS LA Magazine challenge, as Buddy is in it, but the story is more Callen/case focused.

All mistakes are mine as this was written and researched very quickly, although I have edited it several times since. Anyway, if nothing else, I hope you enjoy reading it, as it was eventually fun to write.

* * *

Man's Best Friend

A bitter wind was blowing from the East, bringing with it severe blizzards that had already covered Mongolia and the north of China. By March, the climate of Uzbekistan usually began to turn milder in preparation for the Mediterranean weather the capital of Tashkent experienced from May to September. The winter had not been especially harsh; snow and freezing temperatures as expected, however the blizzards that were now battering the east of the country had caught even the locals unaware.

Callen sat outside on a bench. He was wearing a thick fur-lined coat turned up at the collar, fur-lined gloves and a trapper hat that covered his ears. His shoulders were hunched up as he attempted to bury his head and neck into his coat in a vain attempt to keep warm. The clock in his head told him that his contact was late. By how much he did not know, and he had no intention of lifting the cuff of his sleeve to look at his watch. He gazed around him and wondered why the hell the meet was taking place outside. There were plenty of indoor public areas in Tashkent – the beautifully ornate train station during rush hour would have provided cover, warmth and convenience, and he could see the sign saying "Vokzal" in the near distance. Callen glanced at the sky and blinked hard as snow entered his eyes and stung his face. He had been shivering for the last five minutes and now his teeth had started to chatter. Just as he started to his feet, a figure emerged from the blizzard and moved towards him. Determined to stay seated no longer, he moved a few paces towards the approaching man.

"I'm so terribly sorry I'm late," a clipped English accent belied the fact that his contact was an MI6 officer.

Callen shook the hand that was offered to him and assessed the man within seconds. Before him stood a tall man in his mid fifties, who looked rather harried. He was stooped slightly but not from protecting himself against the weather. A long black winter coat hung off his shoulders and even though he wore a hat, Callen would have bet a lot of money that the man had grey thinning hair. He spoke with the traditional upper class accent that so many Americans associated with the English upper class; a product of Oxford or Cambridge, Callen thought.

"Keller, David Keller. I'm with the New York Times. Thank you for agreeing to meet me." Callen introduced his alias.

"Ah, yes, Mr Keller. I won't give you my name as I would prefer to remain anonymous. You do understand, don't you?" The concern in the older man's eyes cemented the reasons for his harried and late appearance.

"I do. Let's walk. I can't sit here any longer in this weather." Callen moved slowly to his right and the MI6 agent drew alongside him,

"Er, is that yours?" The man pointed to a dog which had started following them.

"Sure is sir. That Ok with you, you're not afraid of dogs?" Callen asked with concern of his own.

"No, no, not at all. I have two Labradors back home. He looks a little like a Lab; what is he?"

"He's a Torkuz – a guard dog and a fighter. Had him near six months now. Named him Buddy." Callen looked fondly at the dog, who in turn looked back at him with loyal brown eyes as he heard his name mentioned.

"Buddy hey. A good solid American name," said the Englishman.

"Indeed, not sure my wife approves though," Callen replied.

"Women! I'm afraid they will just never understand the connection a man has with his dog." The MI6 agent looked wistfully at Buddy as he felt a pang of jealously for the American and his dog, and the intense realisation that he missed his dogs more than his wife.

"Indeed, 'man's best friend' an' all." Callen smiled, understanding the man besides him more with every minute that passed. "So Tracy tells me that you can provide evidence?"

"That's right," he said, as he furtively glanced at his surroundings to ensure they weren't being followed. "But I need your re-assurances that I will be safe. Nothing of what I am about to tell you can ever be traced back to me. It would end my career and destroy my life and family. It could kill me before I even return home next month."

"Sir, we need evidence that this regime is brutally torturing innocent people. Without evidence we only have a story which may as well be fiction. The New York Times would become a laughing stock. I've heard stories from locals of disappearances, arrests for being Muslim, children being tortured in front of their parents – but I have no evidence. The information you can give me, will enable us to obtain this evidence, which we'll do at our own risk. Nothing will lead back to you, you have my word."

The older man listened keenly and saw the honesty in the younger man's eyes. He smiled at the irony that he was being asked to believe a journalist. But then maybe American journalists had higher morals and more scruples that their counterparts in England.

"Very well then. I've been stationed here in Tashkent for two years now and I have personally witnessed fake court sessions, the type of arrests that you have mentioned, and types of torture that no-one should ever have to hear about, let alone witness..."

The Englishman regaled his stories of horrific torture, many of which Callen had heard before from the locals, humanitarian aid workers and from other whistleblowers. Callen allowed the MI6 officer to talk without interruption. Patience was the greatest virtue when dealing with whistleblowers, the pace could not be forced lest they clam up.

"The hard evidence is scattered over various Governmental buildings and in the offices of the CIA, MI6 and the Tashkent Court House." The older man continued. "There are written records, transcripts of court cases and arrests, under lock and key of course, as they all are. Do you know the CIA is flying in prisoners from all over the world to be tortured for information on Al Queda? Quite ironic really, considering the CIA funded and trained those bastards in the first place." The MI6 agent shook his head. "All intelligence gathered is shared with MI6 which makes us complicit in all this. I haven't seen for sure, but I've heard that paperwork and photos are in both agencies offices. I do know for certain, that in the security offices of Majlis – that's Parliament – on the ground floor, is everything you need to go public with this story."

The long walk had taken them to the outskirts of the capital and into the poorer areas, and they finally stopped walking and stood still, facing each other. Buddy obediently sat down on the snow covered ground.

"Sir, you will never know how grateful I am for you coming forward. I will obtain that evidence without it leading back to you. I want to assure you that with a story this size, that I may not be able to publish this story for a while. This could bring down the Bush administration." Callen said sincerely. "But I promise you on my father's grave, that the world will know about the atrocities here, and America's involvement." Callen seized the gloved hand of the older man with both of his and gratefully shook it, offering the re-assurance of his promise.

"Thank you for listening, now please forgive me when I say I never want to see or hear from you or your good wife again." And with that the man abruptly turned around and walked briskly off into the snow. Within fifty meters he was lost from sight and Callen stood there as he disappeared.

Braving the weather, Callen removed a glove and checked the time on his wristwatch. A quarter to four in the afternoon. He absentmindedly bent down to rub Buddy behind the ears. Buddy responded by lifting his head and Callen removed his other glove and crouched down in front of the dog, rubbing both ears and being rewarded with a lick. He wiped it away as he stood again and put his gloves back on.

"C'mon Buddy, let's go home." Callen retraced his footsteps until he reached the bench from earlier and then headed west, along a wide street, pondering why everything was white. Sure, the snow was white, but so were many of the newly erected buildings in Tashkent, and to top it all, so was Buddy. As he'd told the MI6 man, Buddy was a Torkuz, a native breed which typically had short white fur. If Buddy went running off now he would soon disappear amongst all the white. Mind you, Callen thought, the likelihood was that he had so much snow sticking to his coat that the same could be said about him.

A further two minutes and Callen was unlocking the door to a non-descript house off a side road of a side road. A rush of heat met him as he and Buddy stepped inside, and a peel of laughter was aimed in his direction.

"You look like a Yeti, do you have any idea how much snow you have on you?" Tracy Keller moved into view, amazed at how much snow one man could attract without being buried in it.

"Well in case you haven't looked out of the window today, we have snow blizzards." Despite the walk earlier, Callen still hadn't warmed up and by now he was not in the mood for light conversation.

"Well take those wet clothes off and I'll warm you up." Tracy offered.

"You managed to get the fire lit then?" The sarcasm was not lost on Tracy, who dramatically opened the door to the living room to reveal a fierce burning log fire.

Callen removed his gloves, hat and boots and shrugged off his coat as he made his way to the fireplace, followed by Buddy. He stood before the fire and held out his hands, before rubbing them together to get the circulation going again.

"Can you get a towel for Buddy?" Callen called out, knowing full well that Torkuz were well adjusted to the extremes of the Uzbekistan climate, and that Buddy would quite happily sleep outside in this weather.

"You know he should be sleeping outside?" Tracy had come back with a towel but held on to it.

"I know, when it gets warmer he will. Towel?" Callen held out his hand, making Tracy walk over to him.

Callen took the towel and crouched down in front of Buddy, covering him with it before gently rubbing him dry.

"So what did you learn from Mr MI6 this afternoon?" Tracy asked as she sat down on the sofa.

"Nothing we didn't already know. Main thing is that there is evidence in terms of paperwork – court transcripts, photos – lying around in offices all over the place." Callen replied.

"Great, so all we need is an over-zealous wanna-be whistleblower to start acquiring these and making them public and the war on terror could be set back years. So did you find out where exactly this evidence is?"

"MI6 offices, CIA offices, Majlis and the Court House is what he gave me." Callen stopped rubbing Buddy who had now settled down in front of the fire. There was no way he was putting Buddy outside tonight. He patted Buddy's side lightly and hoped he was not making his dog soft.

"Well we can't hit all of them, and I guess we can just walk into the CIA offices and tell them they need to hide their files well." Tracy smiled wryly.

"Depends who's there, remember only a handful of senior officers know we're CIA." Callen brought Tracy down to earth again, and her smile waned.

"So we need a plan then. I'll find out everything about the Majlis and Court House so we can decide which building to target first and how we can get the info." Tracy stood up and walked over to Callen. "You hungry? Dinner should be ready in half an hour."

"Sounds great, I think I'm finally thawed out," he said.

"We'll eat in the kitchen so we can start to make plans," Tracy said as she leaned forward to kiss Callen. He returned her kiss and smiled as he watched her leave the room.

He assessed his life as it was in that very moment and realised he was finally happy. He had a home, a wife, a dog and he was in love with it all. The fact that none of it was real was immaterial. Well apart from Buddy. His dog was real and was the one thing that hadn't been manufactured as part of a cover story. Callen moved to the sofa where he lay down and rested his head on the arm. Buddy woke and followed him, his body thumping down as he plopped himself just in front of the sofa. As Callen closed his eyes, his right arm drifted to the front of the sofa and rested on Buddy.

Callen and Tracy had been undercover as David and Tracy Keller – a husband and wife journalist team from New York – for three weeks before Callen had found Buddy. Callen had been out running, to keep fit and to familiarise himself with his new home, when he had seen a dirty white dog whimpering and lying in the gutter in the poorest area of Tashkent, towards the west of the city. He had approached the dog gingerly, unsure as to whether the dog was a vicious stray. When there was no violent reaction from the dog, Callen had gathered him up in his arms and walked with him back to the house he shared with his 'wife'. Tracy had not been best pleased to see Callen bringing in a waif and stray dog that was filthy, mangy and flea-ridden, but had understood why he had done so.

Tracy had quickly realised that Callen was a complicated and private person, and had openly wondered why she had been paired with him as her husband for this undercover mission. Callen admitted it was his deftness at languages, particularly Russian, Czech and other similar dialects that made him the best man for the role. Their CIA handler had also made it clear to Tracy that Callen was an excellent undercover operative and was quite fearless when it came to completing missions successfully.

The physical attraction had not been immediate, but even over the first three weeks Callen had felt comfortable with Tracy and opened up to her more than he had done with anyone else for many years. The fact that together they had nursed a stray dog back to health had really cemented their bond, and a few days later they had consummated their 'marriage'.

The bond between man and dog had become apparent after just one day. With antiseptic, bandages, food, warmth, and love, the stray was soon following Callen around like a lost puppy. They had taken him to a vets, who had given him the once over (including flea and worm treatment), and confirmed that the dog was in the later years of his life, but if he recovered well, he still had a lot of living left.

'Buddy' had seemed the most appropriate name for the stray that never left Callen's side, and Callen loved the irony that he had given an abandoned and abused dog a home that was full of love. And that love had been rewarded with loyalty and unwavering friendship. Even when a row threatened to erupt between Callen and a local trader, Buddy was there with his hackles up, ready to attack the culprit.

Callen reflected that he was in a country full of irony. Uzbekistan had endured Russian rule until independence was declared in 1991, and then a totalitarian regime had taken over, led by a dictator, a man named Islam Karimov. Karimov had something of a similar background to his, in that he was placed in an orphanage as a baby. He could assume that they both lacked a home, love, stability, nurturing, had endured various types of abuse whilst in the 'system'. Both of them had turned into killers, and frighteningly, both could argue that they were doing it for the good of their country. The similarities ended there. Karimov was a product of the oppressive Russian state and was pure evil. Callen had morals and standards, although they were somewhat lacking with this current CIA mission.

The Bush administration was well and truly in bed with Uzbekistan in the war against terror. The CIA had already been active in this country, but 9/11 was still fresh in everyone's minds. Deals had been brokered to allow the US to use air bases, and suddenly all types of prisoners were being flown in to the country to be interrogated for intelligence gathering. Essentially, through the Uzbek 'interrogation techniques', almost everyone confessed to being a member of Al Queda, and some to personally knowing Bin Laden. Inflated figures presented to the media illustrated how far spread terrorism was, and justified the war the West had declared on Iraq and terror.

Callen was not naive and knew full well the poor standard of human rights Uzbekistan had. This time he had not been tasked with working on the team to find Bin Laden, but to work undercover to remove all traces of evidence that would point to America and the CIA's involvement in the horrific torture of prisoners. He wasn't happy to receive the case – although meeting and falling in love with Tracy was most definitely a perk – and he figured that his days with the CIA for the second time were numbered. Maybe this would be the last case, and he Tracy and Buddy could disappear and forge a new life together...

Callen's eyes closed as he drifted off, fantasising about a perfect life that was for once within in his grasp; a dream that lasted little more than a minute before Buddy woke him up whining, with Tracy shouting that dinner was on the table. Callen sat up and yawned, stroking Buddy's head before leading him to the kitchen to eat.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later and the mission to break into the Majlis, the Parliamentary offices, had been meticulously planned. Blueprints of the building had been obtained, and with the cover of writing a story on Karimov, the two undercover CIA agents had been allowed access to the building and received a guided tour. Security cameras and personnel had been assessed, and although it would be a tricky and dangerous break in, Callen and Tracy agreed that the two of them could manage it without any outside help.

As they crouched outside the rear of the grand building in the dark, Tracy hissed at Callen.

"Why the hell did you bring the dog?"

"Because he's an excellent guard dog," Callen sighed, it was always Buddy that was the subject of Tracy's discontent.

"More like a lap dog, the way he follows you around," a hint of jealousy was evident in the bond Tracy so clearly witnessed between man and dog.

"Torkuz are natural guard dogs, and I've been training Buddy every morning when I run. He'll alert us to danger and he will attack to kill." Callen smile as he leant forward and kissed Tracy tenderly on the lips. "C'mon, let's get this over with. We do this one and the others will be a breeze."

Callen reached and stroked Buddy's ears, giving him instructions to stay and bark at any danger before standing and moving quietly with Tracy towards a small rear door.

Both were dressed in black and carrying AEK-919K "Kashtan" submachine guns and Serdyukov SPS hand guns all with the serial numbers filed off and purchased from a contact formerly with the Russian Federal Security Bureau. Both also carried rucksacks to remove all evidence found. Tracy had a rolled up blueprint of the huge building, although both agents had memorised the layout, the location of the security offices, the quickest and safest route there, and all possible exits. Cameras and alarms had been studied, and their first task was to visit the basement to disable the alarms. Their insider intelligence had confirmed the offices were unoccupied at night. The guards, who regularly patrolled the building's exterior on the hour, every hour, were based in an annex on the opposite side to the main security offices.

Tracy glanced at her watch and signalled to Callen. They had five minutes to disable the alarms, and then precisely twenty minutes to systematically search through filing cabinets and drawers to find hard evidence of CIA complicity in the torture. That left a further five minutes for them to exit the building before the next patrol was due. It was a tight timetable, with contingency time built in, but both had agreed they could complete the operation with time to spare.

Their contact had left a key for them under a nearby bin and Tracy retrieved it and carefully unlocked the door. As the door swung silently open, Buddy moved up alongside Callen and sat down obediently.

"Back soon," Callen muttered to Buddy as he followed Tracy into the blackness of the corridor ahead of them.

The corridor was one of many trade entrances and this one led directly to the circuit breakers in the basement. They had not progressed more than ten metres when Tracy stopped abruptly, causing Callen to bump into her.

"Ow," muttered Tracy turning round and glaring at Callen.

"Sorry," Callen whispered in reply as he imagined the look was he being given in the darkness.

"There's a locked door. I don't remember seeing this on the blueprints. Are you sure we entered via the right door?" Callen could hear the concern in Tracy's voice.

"Of course I'm sure, you pulled together the plan and we both agreed this was the best way in." As the senior agent, Callen reassured Tracy. They both knew they had the best possible plan however Callen also agreed that there was no internal door this close, and warning bells started sounding in his head. "I've got a bad feeling about this. The door is not meant to be here; we should abort now. Tracy?"

"Callen we've been here for nearly seven months and this is the closest we've come to seizing evidence. We can do this, the two of us. C'mon, you unlock this door." And Tracy moved aside as Callen reached into his pockets for the small picklock set he always carried.

With seasoned practice Callen jiggled the pins in the lock until the barrel turned with a click. He grinned proudly at Tracy in the dark and somehow managed to resist making a smart comment. Tracy squeezed past him, gasped the handle and pulled open the door.

"Ladies first," she said with a smile as Callen stepped through the doorway.

All of a sudden a cacophony of sirens filled the night and the two agents froze likes rabbits caught in the headlights.

"I told you this felt wrong," hissed Callen angrily as he pulled Tracy through the door after him. "Go to the basement, short the alarms as planned and then hit the security office. You'll have to use the emergency escape plan. I'll hold off the guards and then follow. Go."

"Gone," whispered Tracy and Callen heard her light footsteps quickly fade into the distance.

Callen took a deep breath and moved back towards their original entrance. He exited the door and Buddy was there to greet him, ears pricked up at the harsh sound of the alarm. He watched his owner as he quickly moved several large bins in front of the door as some kind of protection. Callen knew the guards were in the annex at the opposite side of the building, and even at a sprint, he calculated he had about another minute and a half before the first guard arrived. His position was very open and he reached into his rucksack and pulled out four canisters of tear gas and readied his Kashtan submachine gun.

"Buddy, behind me." Callen whispered and Buddy obeyed. "Wait."

There was no way he wanted Buddy to be exposed to gun fire. Certain as he was that Buddy would not baulk or run at the noise, he wanted to make sure Buddy would not attack the guards before he could. Callen silently counted the seconds in his head and hoped Tracy could disable the alarm before the guards arrived. If lady luck was on their side, the alarm would stop, he could lock the door and either hide or take the guards out...

Unfortunately Callen heard approaching footsteps arriving at speed. He crouched down behind the bins and waited. A voice shouted in Uzbek, demanding whoever was there to surrender. Callen stayed silent. The voice shouted again. A third time contained an added threat that if he didn't surrender, they would shoot to kill. Callen thought the warning fair and was somewhat surprised that the guards hadn't stormed the area with guns blazing. Obviously not military trained, he thought.

Silence filled the air as the wailing alarm suddenly ceased. Tracy would now be on her way out of the basement and heading towards the security office. He needed to hold off the guards and give Tracy as long as possible to retrieve the evidence.

"Don't shoot," Callen shouted out in Uzbek, remaining behind the shelter of the large bins.

"Surrender your weapon," the guard responded.

"I have no weapons, but you'll shoot me anyway," Callen replied as he shifted position to reach for the tear gas canisters and the gas mask to protect his own eyes and airways.

"Who are you and what are you doing?" The guard did nothing to allay Callen's fears that they had no intention of letting him walk away.

"I was looking for somewhere to sleep out of the cold. I found a key hidden in the bin for the first door..." A half truth.

"I do not believe you. Raise your hands and come out."

"Please don't shoot," Callen pleaded in Uzbek. "I'll come out."

Callen could not see the guards but sensed their position. The tear gas was very strong and would work immediately and Callen deftly removed the pin on two canisters and threw one over the bin towards the guards and rolled the other from the right side of the bin. Instantly, he heard coughing, spluttering and Uzbek swear words. Callen donned the gas mask and ran to the guards. Five of them were clutching at their eyes and retching as the gas entered their mouths, noses and lungs. With practiced efficiency, Callen shot each one of them dead before running to re-open the door to the Parliamentary building. He motioned to Buddy to join him and they both entered, sprinting down corridors only to hear echoed gunfire from within the building.

Callen still had his weapon drawn as he reached the security office and he cautiously entered the room. A quick glance told him it was empty although it was clear Tracy had been and gone. Filing cabinets were opened, drawers had been ransacked, and to his trained eye it appeared that there were gaps where files had been grabbed. Callen had to assume that Tracy had found at least part of what they were looking for. Another burst of gunfire, this time sounding more distant and Callen hoped Tracy was near the exit. With Buddy at his side, he again sprinted down the broad corridors towards the sound of gunshots until he almost tripped over the body of a dead guard. That's my girl, he thought until his eyes focused on a trail of blood that started twenty metres ahead of him. Callen's heart sank as he realised that from the position of the dead body and the blood ahead, it was most likely Tracy's.

He forged ahead with tunnel vision, Buddy at his heels. The doors of corridors became invisible as Callen ran without thinking towards their pre-planned emergency exit. The trail of blood continued but there was no sign of a body – any body - Tracy's or possibly another guard. Callen clung on to the latter thought. The blood may not be Tracy's. She might not be injured. As Callen neared the exit, after twisting through a series of service corridors, Buddy sprinted ahead.

"Buddy," whispered Callen, who slowed up as he could see Buddy stop and paw over something or someone lying at the edge of the narrow corridor. Callen nudged Buddy to one side and was somewhat relieved to find it was Tracy's rucksack, spotted with blood, but not Tracy herself. Callen snatched up the rucksack and ruffled Buddy's ears, motioning him to continue moving towards the door his could now hear was swinging open lightly in the breeze. Cautiously, Callen peeked round the door, weapon at the ready, but no one was waiting. Buddy looked up at him and Callen gave the dog the signal to exit and scout around outside.

Within thirty seconds, Buddy walked back to Callen, apparently having found nothing worrying. Callen followed Buddy slowly, using his flashlight sparingly, not wanting to attract any further unwanted attention. The light caught more specks of bright red blood, which looked even more disturbing against the pure white snow. Closer to the side road, the fresh snow had been disturbed with what looked like a struggle. Callen could see that a vehicle had also been involved and tyre treads were clearly indented on the small side road which skirted this side of the building.

Callen looked in both directions however it was clear the vehicle had driven off to the west. With him tripping the alarm, he was sure the guards had called the alert through to either the police or the military, and someone soon would discover the murdered guards. He hesitated for several seconds as he deliberated whether to follow the tyre tracks. His head quickly overruled his heart and he set off at a sprint across the side road, and disappeared in to the night, knowing he could no longer return home.

Callen continued running and skidding in the snow and compacted ice for twenty minutes, reaching further and further into the poor outskirts of the Uzbekistan's capital city. Houses became ram-shackled and were few and far between as he strayed into farmland. He had to reach to the safe house but first needed some space to clear his own head and assess what had happened within the last hour or so. Buddy matched him for speed, never once straying from his side and the constant presence of his faithful friend was serving to calm Callen down.

A barn loomed to the right of him, which appeared to be in a state of disrepair and Callen darted towards it, quietly pulling open the loose doors. He and Buddy slipped inside and Callen pulled the door shut. Turning on his flashlight, he carefully looked around. The barn was empty; no tractors or any other equipment, save an old rake which leant against the rear wall. The floor was dirt, with a few patches of scattered snow the patchy roof had allowed in.

Callen sighed heavily, his heart sinking as he collapsed to the floor and the realisation set in of how poorly executed their mission had become, and at the price failure brought. He moved to lean against the barn wall as Buddy sat down next to him. If Tracy had been injured and picked up by the Uzbek Police or Military the chances were that she would never been seen again. They had both known the risks of the mission. The moment they were compromised, the mission was over. If they were captured, they had to sacrifice their lives rather than risk torture. Under no circumstances were they to be placed in a position that would reveal to the Uzbek's that they were CIA. They did not exist, and whereas their backstopping was unbreakable, as humans, they were not. Everyone had their breaking point, however Tracy and Callen were both prepared to lay down their lives before that breaking point was found.

Callen shivered. Buddy placed his head in his lap and Callen automatically stroked the dog's ears. He was not dressed to be sleeping out in sub zero temperatures. He had been awake for almost twenty four hours straight and not eaten since the previous evening. He closed his eyes and suppressed a sob. For a precious few months his life had been perfect. He'd found love, happiness and together with Tracy, they had built a home together. The icing on the cake was that they even had a dog; not quite a child but maybe one day. He really couldn't see himself as a father and even the very thought of it petrified him, but maybe with Tracy...They had talked about leaving the spying game behind and living the dream on some desert island. Callen had joked that the only condition was that Buddy came with them. Now Buddy was all he had left in the world, and he realised that even their time together was now limited. A solitary tear ran down Callen's cheek and he brushed it away with a shaking hand. He had to get a grip on his emotions or he would soon end up dead, like Tracy. Not that he particularly cared what happened to him at this precise moment. Exhaustion, both mental and physical, suddenly swept over him and as the sun started to creep over the horizon, Callen drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

The hours of daylight faded as Callen finally stirred and struggled to open his eyes. The effort required was intense and all he could feel was a warm breath on his cheek. His entire left side was numb with cold and he could barely feel his fingers or toes. His right side felt warm although a weight was pressing heavily on him. Callen rolled over and the warm weight shifted on to his numb body. Shaking almost imperceptibly, he again slipped off to sleep, as his body started to slowly shut down.

An incessant whining penetrated Callen's consciousness and again he stirred. This time his right side felt cold, although the numbness he experienced earlier had subsided. The whining was accompanied by a warm, wetness along the side of his face, and Callen realised Buddy was still with him. Forcing his eyes to open, he came face to face with Buddy, in an extreme close up. Callen blinked several times, trying to focus. As well as Buddy, he could see the outline of the barn walls. Through the patchy roof, the moon lit the interior and Callen could see that where he wasn't covered by Buddy, he was covered with a light dusting of snow. Callen slowly pushed himself back to a sitting position and Buddy moved so he was on Callen's lap. The warmth generated by the dog was incredible and he was in no doubt that Buddy had saved his life. Without Buddy he would be dying from hypothermia. He realised he was still at risk, and wondered why he had stupidly ran in the opposite direction to the safe house, instead of straight to it. Callen gathered his thoughts, and it seemed as though the intense cold had destroyed his brain cells. Think, God damn you, he thought as he tried to devise a way of returning to the other side of the city without freezing to death. Walking was the only option. He had no car, bike or other means of transport. He only had himself to rely on. And Buddy, he quickly added...

On shaky legs, Callen exited the barn, and taking direction from the stars, moved painfully slowly back towards the city. He had stopped shivering now and had begun to shake more violently. Callen knew that even by walking he would start to increase his body's natural heat, which was the most lucid thought he'd had in the last 16 hours. I've survived worse, he repeatedly said to himself out aloud, and with every repetition, he increased his pace and moved faster, with Buddy still at his side.

Ten minutes later and the buildings were much less spaced out. Dilapidated tractors adorned yards and Callen remembered that he didn't have to own a car to acquire one. Eagerly, he focused on the vehicles parked sparsely on the roadside. It was a further three minutes before he found a beaten up old Toyota truck. Callen gingerly tried the door handle and was not surprised to find it unlocked. He opened the door wide and beckoned Buddy to jump in. With one bound Buddy jumped over the driver's seat and on to the passenger side. Callen followed, closed the door and adjusted the seat which had been pushed back as far as it could go. He moved his hands to beneath the steering wheel, feeling for wires behind the ignition. Finding the loose wires, he brought them forward to check they were the right ones, touched the two exposed wires to each other and within seconds, the engine started. Callen revved the engine gently as he twisted the wires together, preventing the car from stalling. Thirty seconds from opening the car door, Callen released the handbrake and drove away with a wry smile on his face, thinking it was years since he had practiced this particular skill, and he was very grateful that he had not lost his touch.

Driving through the city at night posed few problems if you drove sensibly and stuck to the main roads. As Callen drove, the warmth of the car's heater threatened to make him even sicker than he already felt and he soon had to turn the heater onto cool. He had to stay awake. He hadn't come this far to die in a car crash. The thought of death brought with it the crushing apprehension of what and who may greet him at the safe house. By now his handler would know exactly what happened and any debriefing would be swiftly followed by a back door exit of Uzbekistan. Again, Callen felt as though someone had knocked the wind from his lungs as it dawned on him that he would also be bidding goodbye to Buddy. As a CIA agent, he would never be permitted on a military flight with a dog, and there was no other way for him to leave the region safely. Callen made the final turn into a leafy suburb and parked in the driveway of a large house. He unwound the wires, disconnecting the ignition. The silence was deafening. With a deep breath he leaned his head back against the head rest and again closed his eyes. Buddy was quickly up in his seat, pawing and whining at Callen, keen for him not to fall asleep again. Callen moved forward slightly and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Buddy. Didn't mean to worry you again. I'll be OK now." He moved his face next to Buddy's and looked directly into his brown eyes, instantly recognising the love and loyalty of his best friend. He was reward with a lick. "Hmm, let's see who's waiting to tear strips off me. Y'know I think my days in the CIA are numbered. Better jump again, before they push me..."

Callen knocked on the door which was swiftly opened by middle aged man dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt.

"You'd better come in. The dog too." The man stepped aside to allow Callen and Buddy to enter the spacious hallway.

"Ed," greeted Callen and held out his hand. "Figured you'd be here."

"Of course Callen, someone has to clean up your mess. Again." The last word hung in the air between them, and Callen remembered how he'd been made a scapegoat for a failed operation in Yemen two years ago. "I'll get some blankets and food. You look like shit. Don't smell too good either. The living room is to the right. Someone's waiting for you there." Ed gestured with his arms.

Just from the warmth of the hallway, Callen felt flushed. He stripped off his black jacket and ran his fingers through his hair before steeling himself to whatever onslaught he was about to encounter. As he opened the door a familiar peel of laughter greeted him and Callen stepped through the doorway to see Tracy throwing her head back, clearly enjoying a joke that he was not party to. Tracy continued to smile as she saw Callen and leaned forward to pick up her steaming mug of tea.

"Hey, you took your time getting here. Where did you get to?" She asked, still smiling.

Callen absorbed the scene, not trusting himself to answer. Buddy pushed the door open further and walked up to Tracy. Traitor, thought Callen bitterly. Buddy raised his head to Tracy, who dutifully patted him. Buddy, satisfied that Tracy was safe, returned to Callen's side and sat down. Callen shook his head, clearing the cobwebs that now had him not even trusting his best friend.

Taking a step into the room he replied, "I thought you were dead." Every word was emphasised, causing Tracy's smile to falter.

"How could you think that?" She asked innocently. "You volunteered to hold off the guards so I could complete the mission. I then came to the safe house as planned when the mission was clearly compromised."

"I killed those guards for you. I saw the blood, the dropped rucksack." Callen raised his voice with each sentence until he shouted. "I thought you were dead, when all you did was just leave me there."

"Callen, I dropped the rucksack to mislead the guards. The evidence was in my other bag and pockets. I completed the mission as directed."

"You abandoned me." Callen was repeating himself. All sense and logic had disappeared as it sunk in that Tracy did not care about him. She had sacrificed him for the good of the mission.

Tracy stood up and approached Callen, placing her hand on his arm and looking in to his eyes. Callen flinched at the touch and shrugged her off, breaking eye contact.

"Don't," he said quietly.

"But..."

"Leave me alone," Callen knew he sounded like a sulky teenager but no longer cared. He turned on his heel, grabbing the blanket from Ed who was hovering in the doorway and left the house.

"Callen, wait." Ed followed him to the pick-up truck.

"I'm going to the safe house in the Chilonzor District. Alert them I'm coming and don't tell Tracy." Callen opened the truck door.

"Callen, you look ill. You should stay here tonight at least."

"Ed, your concern is really pulling on my heart strings." Callen's sarcasm stung the older man. "Tell them I'm on my way."

Although they intensely disliked each other, Ed was no fool and could see how much Callen was hurting emotionally and physically.

"Callen, I'm ordering you to stay here tonight. I've called a physician to check you over. You probably have hypothermia and frost bite." Ed asserted his seniority over Callen.

"I don't give a crap what I've got. I'm not setting another foot in the same house as her." Callen's eyes blazed with anger and Ed realised he was fighting a losing battle.

"Ok, then I'll drive you across town."

"I'm quite capable of driving myself," Callen replied coldly.

"I disagree. But if you insist on driving, I will accompany you. I can't afford to lose good agents to car crashes when we have terrorists to catch." Ed walked round to the passenger side and got in, followed swiftly by Buddy.

"Great," muttered Callen as he got in the driver's seat and again hotwired the truck.

Ed shook his head, "All the sophisticated spy tools and technology we have, and it still comes down to picking pockets, picking locks and stealing cars."

"That's right Ed," Callen said grimly as he reversed out of the driveway at speed. "I'm nothing more than an expendable common thief, and I won't be your problem for much longer."


	3. Chapter 3

A CIA physician instructed Callen to rest over the next few days as he recovered from mild hypothermia and exhaustion. Ed came to visit him several times, and each time Callen told him he quit, and wanted out on the first available flight.

Buddy, his ever faithful friend remained by Callen's side, and he now felt a double heartbreak. The crushing realisation that Tracy never loved him and was only using him to her own ends, and gut-wrenching knowledge that he could not take Buddy with him. He tried everything to persuade Ed to get Buddy on a flight out of the country; he pleaded, begged, reasoned and even attempted blackmail. Nothing was going to work unless he drove himself through some of the world's most dangerous, terrorist filled countries. As a white man and an American he would quickly be captured and accused of spying. Which would of course, be correct. He would then be subjected to the types of torture he had frequently employed during his time with the Agency, and the Bureau before that, namely sleep deprivation and water-boarding. The former was his favourite and he could usually outlast those he subjected to it. Coupled with the silent treatment and negative re-enforcement, success had been guaranteed for the softer suspects. Callen could certainly survive for a while, but sense prevailed in this dangerous and highly volatile region. He would have to let Buddy go.

Sooner than expected, a space became available on a flight bound for Berlin. Callen was alerted to the flight plan four hours before departure. His belongings had been collected for him from the home he had once shared with Tracy, and were now packed neatly into a rucksack and sports bag. Since that night, Callen had not been allowed out for fear of discovery. He heard rumours that their cover was intact and that Tracy had returned back to their home and was resuming the mission without him. David Keller had flown back to New York and would not be returning.

Buddy had patiently stayed by Callen's side for days. He was let out to roam around the garden but no one had taken him for walks. The only solution Ed had eventually offered Callen, was that Tracy would keep Buddy. The thought made him furious but there was little he could do. Buddy was a stray Callen had adopted and he was being forced to abandon him. He reckoned Buddy would last a few days and then take-off to live rough again until another kindred spirit linked up with him or he died alone. He shook his head and smiled at the fact he and Buddy shared so many characteristics, and had been dealt the same hand by life and fate.

Buddy knew the end was coming; his body language was full of dejection, his head was lowered and ears down as he constantly looked up at Callen, waiting for the words of reassurance. None came. Callen hated goodbyes and many years ago had locked away the emotions associated with being wrenched away from people he cared about. Buddy was different. He didn't have the words to comfort Buddy so instead he stroked and petted Buddy in silence.

Soon he was advised the car had arrived to transport him to the airbase. He gave Buddy one last hug, kissed the top of his head and stood, gathering his two bags. Buddy gave out a short whine.

"I'm so sorry, Buddy," Callen whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "I'm so sorry."

Without looking back, Callen left the safe house, stashed his meagre belongings in the boot of the car and was driven to the airbase. Berlin awaited, followed by another military flight to an as yet unknown destination back in the States. There, he would be taken to the CIA Headquarters at Fairfax County to be fully debriefed on his part of the mission, and on his leaving the CIA. In less than a week he had lost everything. Callen resolved to not let anyone or anything get that close again. Moving forward, he would return to working on his own without any exceptions.


End file.
